


The Place Our Past Will Take Us

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Community: kink_bingo, Consensual Kink, D/s, F/M, RACK - Freeform, SSC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-01
Updated: 2009-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica and Logan attend a play party at an L.A. dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Place Our Past Will Take Us

**Author's Note:**

> D/s; mentions of past physical abuse. Veronica &amp; Logan are around 22 here. Postage stamp for Kink Bingo 2009, for kink prompts whipping/flogging, mirrors, exhibitionism and bondage (wrist restraints).

By the time I finish explaining to the last student that 'I didn't study' is not acceptable grounds for appealing an exam grade, lock up the department office, go home, shower, pack and drive out to Los Angeles, the party has technically already started.

Logan is waiting for me at the hotel, ready to go. He keeps glancing over as I re-pack my bag with only the things I expect to need tonight, more attention on me than on the mafia movie on the flatscreen. I keep my body between us so he can't see what I've brought. Not that I have a huge range of toys and costumes to choose from, but I'd like to keep the surprise if I can. When I'm finished I pick up my bag and wait for Logan to get the door for me.

We get to the party around eleven, just as the action starts to pick up. Knowing the layout, we head straight for the change-room after checking in at the front desk. I pull a black lorinette mask out of my purse and slip it on before we're even out of the lobby. Logan does the same. The masks aren't required but we're usually not the only people who wear them, whether for privacy, fetish or the fun of dressing up.

The venue is a working dungeon, the office of a professional Dominant and a couple of former student-associates. She and I get along like milk and cookies since I proved she had no hand in the attempted blackmail of several of her clients—that was a resentful would-be slave who objected to her terminating their relationship after he grew inappropriately possessive. She opens the place up twice a month for play parties, semi-private, pre-registration only. Logan and I have been coming regularly for a while now, though we missed the last one. I'll admit I'm feeling a little antsy; I didn't realize how much I'd missed it.

We take lockers at opposite ends of the room and change with our backs to one another. No peeking, that's the rule. I hum along with the Sarah McLachlan remix drifting in from the main room as I roll my stockings up and fasten them to my garter belt.

Why come all the way to L.A.? Aren't there parties like this in Neptune? Indubitably so, but Logan and I are both too well-known. Even here, even masked, there's a chance we'll be recognized, and the scandals are still fresh enough for paparazzi to slaver at the prospect of catching an Echolls in an establishment like this. So why take the risk at all? Sure, we could play at home, privately, and sometimes we do, but Logan always performs better when he's being watched. He's not as much of an attention-whore as others in his family, in fact he kind of dreads it, which I think is what makes it such a visceral craving for him. A taboo addiction he can't quite shake. And me? Do I thrive and thrill on having an audience? Surely by now you know the answer to that!

I get as dressed as I can on my own, then say, "Done." I wait for him to repeat the announcement before I turn around. I smile, pleased but not surprised by his outfit. He's only wearing leather pants and boots, besides the mask, so he shouldn't have taken as long as I did to get dressed, but I know he's trying not to seem impatient.

He looks happy to see me too, dressed like a very classy schoolmistress or maybe a secretary, in my white blouse, black skirt and pumps. We meet in the middle of the room for a kiss. He tightens the cincher around my waist and I fasten the padded leather cuffs around his wrists.

Another kiss before I lead the way out into the space, Logan carrying the toy bag. We take the long route: past the quiet lounge and the majority of the play stations, crosses and benches and a medical play table tucked into corners of the maze-like facility. Past the wrestling pit and the private rooms with their red lights. Past the laundry hamper and the smiling bear at the vendor table. Out into the main room, where the music is loudest and most of the crowd is gathered, laughing and snacking.

I know Logan had a couple of drinks at the hotel before we came, so I let him order another from the corner bar but I won't let him finish it. I don't drink when I'm playing. We station ourselves next to the pillar separating the clustered sofas from the micro-dungeon, a couple of stations around a corner with sprung flooring and a mirrored wall like a dance studio.

I know Logan wants to play now, know his skin is itching from the way he's breathing and the way his eyes won't stay on one thing for more than a second or two. So I make him wait. He twitches every time someone else seems about to walk onto the floor, afraid they're going to claim 'our spot'. It's kind of adorable. On the other hand I'm getting pretty tense with anticipation myself and I don't want him to have a heart attack, so the next time he raises his cup to sip I touch his arm. "Ready?" I ask casually.

He follows me onto the floor to a spot in front of the mirror, underneath the suspension rig's anchored bars and heavy steel ring hanging from an eye-bolt in the ceiling. It's too high for me to reach, and even Logan has to stand on tiptoe in order to clip the D-rings on his cuffs to the ring. It's not the most inescapable restraint, I know. I could find a stool or get someone taller to lock the karabiners, but I'd rather have the quick release. Besides, tonight, Logan's not going anywhere I don't want him to go.

With his arms reaching overhead, the long muscles in his shoulders and torso pulled tight and taut, Logan is completely exposed. He has no way to fend off the caresses of eyes and hands I give him now. I've seen him like this before, touched him like this before, but it's something I cannot get used to. The stretch of his skin makes all the little scars pop out and I walk around him with my hands out like the tines of a music box, kissing every wound I find. Considering how he earned most of these scars, I'm astonished that he lets me do what I'm about to do to him, let alone that he _wants_ it, but I understand him well enough not to push him to verbalize.

Even more astonishing, he's not sharing it with me alone. Tethered in the middle of the room, he's open to the gaze of a hundred people. He can't stop them from looking, couldn't stop them from touching if they got close enough. I won't let them, but he has to trust me to take that responsibility. It's that trust that overcame my jealous instincts here, when I realized that, while there may be a hundred witnesses to this intimacy, there are only two participants.

Logan can see it all, of course. I can look up to the glass at any moment while I set up behind him, stepping out of my shoes and opening up the toy bag, and find his shadowed eyes tracking my movements or drinking in the dim and blurry faces of the other party-goers. Watching them watch him.

I pull the big blue and black leather flogger out of the bag, hold it straight down with the handle level to my face. I run my fingers through the falls, smoothing out any tangles and enjoying the silky rustle. It's my favorite toy, not the first one I bought but the first real quality piece I invested in. It's heavy, but so well balanced that I can swing for an hour before my arm gets tired. Sometimes it's the only toy I'll use for a whole scene; tonight feels like one of those nights. I go to Logan again and hug him, tickling the falls against his bare skin, but first I bury my nose in them and savor the leather's smoky aroma.

I can't reach Logan's mouth to kiss it when he's trussed up like this, and he can't stoop down to meet mine, so I press the kiss to my fingers and transfer it to his lips that way. Then I step away behind him and off to the side a little, letting my toy hang heavy from my hand.

Before I even raise the flogger, I know how the rest of the night will go. I can see it as clearly as if it were playing out before me, the mirror become a movie screen.

On the first stroke, Logan will press forward a little and groan with pleasure the way you do when you sink into a hot tub or take a bite of rich dark chocolate. Then he'll straighten his back and absorb the force, budging only on the really hard blows, the ones I have to wind up for.

I'll focus mostly on his upper back, spending some time on his ass and chest for variety and balance. I know from being on the receiving end of this flogger—not with Logan, who wouldn't dream of topping me, but with our hostess—that it's mostly thud with just a little slap, but boy does it feel like getting beaten up. I'll use the strokes that make it easiest for me to pummel Logan the way he likes, no showing off; there may be people watching but I'm not doing this for their benefit.

I'll work him until he's sighing, deep meditative breaths through his nose, and the tension starts going out of his neck and back. I suspect he could take a beating with this one longer than I could keep giving, but the real limiting factor tonight is manners. We don't want to hog the station when there are others waiting. When I notice the play monitor tapping her wrist I'll give Logan three hard ones in a row, and he'll know it's over. He'll unhook his wrists and I'll be there in front of him to catch his tired arms with an embrace.

Then we'll gather up our things and, leaning on each other, never breaking contact, take our aftercare to one of the private rooms. We'll close the door as far as we're allowed and set the light to deter people from entering or peering in. This is the part where neither of us wants to be watched, the part that really is just ours.

Inside the room we'll undress each other slowly, touching each other any way we can think of. The masks will be the last piece to come off. Logan will kiss me all over, because that's what he needs to do: reassure himself that's okay to want me to beat him by reassuring me that it's okay to do it, because as long as we both know that what we're doing isn't bad, we can't be. I'll wallow in those kisses, because it's what I need to do: beating Logan winds something inside me tight as a wire, all my fear and anger over all the violence I've been a part of, directly or not, but having him there to hold onto soothes the energy down, letting the excitement uncoil into arousal.

We'll make love, by turns rough and tender but consistently intense because neither of us can do anything any way _but_ intensely. Before we come we'll look into each other's eyes and see our own reflections: bound, exposed, but not alone.

The falls swish as I adjust my grip on the flogger's handle. My arm comes up, elbow doubling back, and I follow through.


End file.
